


Voiceless

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consent Issues, Episode: s09e03 I'm No Angel, Fix-It, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Issuefic, M/M, S09 Deconstruction, Triggery Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3401690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Dean's mouth works soundlessly and his hands tremble as the girl approaches on feet that never meet the floor, her red hair fanning out behind her, her face as white and drained of color as his must be at that moment. Two red pinpricks of light blaze in her face and he realizes they're her eyes. Absurdly, he notes that she's still wearing the wine-colored shirt she was killed in, although the color reminds him more of blood now than wine.</i> </p>
<p>
  <i>"It's April," Cas says, like that explains everything.</i>
</p>
<p>April Kelly returns from the grave, and a reckoning is demanded of Castiel. Follow-up to the S09 episode I'm No Angel; more details inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voiceless

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this sometime last year after being inspired by this [series of posts](http://exitpursuedbyasloth.tumblr.com/post/78969223246/i-enjoyed-your-argument-about-the-season-9-title) diving into the consent issues that plagued I'm No Angel – one of which contained a proposal for an [episode plot](http://exitpursuedbyasloth.tumblr.com/post/72676395555/grahamburglar-exitpursuedbyasloth) that would meaningfully address both Cas and April's violation while remaining relevant to the overall Ezekiel/Gadreel storyline. This was my attempt to put those ideas into story form, as 9x03 represented most of what I felt was wrong with S09 as a whole. The title alludes both to Castiel's loss of identity within canon and to the screenwriters' tendency to strip him of agency/self-autonomy (especially when it comes to his "love" interests!).
> 
> Writing is fairly anvilicious re: the issues (at least in comparison to my other stuff), but as the saying goes, Some Anvils Need to Be Dropped.
> 
> **Content warning for attempted rape, discussion of sexual assault in canon, and mentions of peripheral Destiel.**

**Detroit, Michigan**

It's Ashley Miller's eighteenth birthday party, and Amber Keegan is bored out of her mind.

Appropriate, really. Amber doesn't even _like_ Ashley that much. She'd only agreed to come because they had a few friends in common, and as per the invisible social underpinnings of Wayne County High, that meant she was pretty much legally obligated to show up to things like this.

It wouldn't have been so bad if Ashley wasn't one of those girls who was still obsessed with Disney princesses and wore Silly Bandz in public, and believed good parties needed to have _themes_ , like Alice in Wonderland or My Little Pony or what the hell ever. Also, her favorite singer was Katy Perry, and Heaven help the unlucky soul who would try to deny her her God-given right to blast "California Girls" in her mom's apartment twenty times in a row.

Really, the only thing that'd made it worthwhile was the absence of parents – Ashley's mom was on yet another business trip – which meant there was alcohol. Lots of it. She hadn't intended to have anything more than a beer, but peer pressure and ennui were a hell of a recipe for abandoned principles. She's gone through about six glasses of ginger ale laced with Canadian whiskey and half as many shots of coconut rum, all in the name of killing time (and impressing a few guys). Right now she thinks Lady Gaga's ode to drunken clubbing would have made a much better choice for tonight's anthem than "California Girls." Especially the part where Gaga sings about lost keys and phones. Oh well, they'll turn up eventually.

After a while, another person she's seen loitering around the edges of the party, a guy from geography, sidles up next to her. "Hey," he says.

"Hi, Derek," she says, grinning hugely at him. "Isn't this just a perfect waste of a Friday night?"

"This party _is_ pretty lame, isn't it." Derek smiles at her. Amber thinks he's pretty cute – tall, broad-shouldered, good on the football field – but he's really not her type.

"Honestly," she laughs, "I think using the word _lame_ is pretty lame. How 'bout we just say it blows?" She giggles uproariously at her own joke, never mind that she feels like she's going to float away like one of the millions of balloons festooning the ceiling.

"How about we duck out of here," Derek tells her, and before she can respond they're stumbling – or _she's_ stumbling, anyway – over the partition leading away from the living room, seeking refuge from the headache-inducing noise and raucous laughter. Derek's arm easily supports her as he ushers her into Ashley's bedroom. It vaguely occurs to her that it's a little rude to just barge into the hostess's bedroom without permission, and that she should probably let one of her friends know she's in here, in case she starts to vomit and needs a bucket or something.

The room is empty. Derek lays her down on the bed, then sits next to her a minute later and strokes her hair, gently. If this were three or even two drinks ago, Amber would have been a little more weirded out, but right now she just thinks Derek's being a really nice guy.

"Thanks," she manages to get out from between slackened lips, betraying her inebriated state. "You should go let one of 'em know we're in here..."

"Sure," he says, but he makes no move to get up and his grip on her hair tightens, becomes more possessive. She grimaces from the pain.  
  
"Ugh, Derek. That hurts – "

The protest dies in her throat, as all at once he's rolling her body over, kissing her – really full-on _kissing_ her, when the farthest she's ever gone with a guy was a reward peck on the cheek when Danny Gauguin brought her a dandelion in third grade – making her seize up in shock. A sudden snap of cold clarity pierces the boozy fog, informs her that the bedroom door's been firmly closed and locked, the Katy Perry music continuing to blast at full volume on the other side. No one would hear anything unusual, or even think to come in here, high school kids being as they were.

"Derek," she mumbles, her voice low and subdued in spite of the terror she suddenly feels. "Stop. You're drunk. We're both drunk." But even in the haze she knows that Derek has only had one beer and that was an hour ago. _She's_ the one too drunk to walk without falling, or even to raise her voice to scream.

He doesn't say anything, just pulls her hand away to clear a path to her belt buckle, and she tries again. "Derek – " He roughly covers her lips with his own to stifle her protests, begins pawing inside the waistband of her jeans.

"I really like you, Amb," he mutters into her mouth. "I've liked you for a long time. And I think you're going to like this, too."

"No," she says, trying to push him off, but he's too strong and she's too drunk and it's pretty clear where this is going.

"Come on," he purrs. "You know you want it."

It was all happening so fast. No, more than that: it wasn't _supposed_ to be happening. She'd taken all the appropriate measures to avoid this outcome, done all the things her dad had told her to do if she didn't want to become a statistic. She'd only come to a party where she could be sure everyone was someone she knew from school, she'd come with her friends, she hadn't dressed slutty... the only thing she'd relaxed were the restrictions on drinking but god, didn't _every_ kid get hammered at least once... and yet, that one little mistake revealed her precautions for the house of cards they were. That one little mistake was going to get her raped.

At that moment the room grows deathly cold. She feels like she can almost sense another presence in the room, even though the door's still closed and all around her is darkness. _Please_ , she silently begs of the person – God, angels, whoever – _help me –_

And help does come, of a sort, as Derek suddenly gives a choked gasp and disappears; Amber finds that she can draw full breaths again, freed from his oppressive weight. It takes her a few seconds to realize he's been thrown clear across the room. In the failing light she sees, or think she sees, a young woman with long hair, levitating several feet off the floor, before the image suddenly flickers and flashes out of existence. A brutal crunching sound – like bones being crushed into powder – followed by a sickening splat against the far wall, slices the air, punctuated by Derek's gut-wrenching scream.

Then: silence.

Amber has no idea what's just happened, but the door flies open – somehow it can do that even though it's still locked – and Ashley is standing there, screaming. Amber follows her horrified gaze to the corner of the bedroom, where Derek is lying. Or at least, parts of him are. If he hadn't been wearing his Wayne County High Tigers jacket, she would have easily mistaken the pile of limbs and gore for the aftermath of the woodchipper scene from _Fargo_.

Amber gives the scene a long, lingering glance before her body makes good on its threats and she upends the contents of her stomach all over the rug.

* * *

"What the hell is this?"  


Dean jabs a finger at the photographs splashing the front page of the Lebanon Tribune. The story they're accompanying came out of Michigan, but was apparently bizarre enough to warrant reporting across state lines, and the headline proclaims in screaming letters: "GHOST KILLER" IN DETROIT?

"If there was no sign of a break-in and nobody saw the killer, then it's probably the work of a vengeful spirit," Sam says helpfully, glancing down at the paper over the rim of his third cup of coffee. "Not to mention it says _ghost_ in the headline."

"Yeah, thanks for that, Sherlock. I'm not worked up over _that_. It's the _where_ that bothers me." He points at one of the photos. "This look familiar to you?"

Sam takes a closer look. "That's the apartment where Cas..." He stops himself, but just barely. "Where we found Cas."

Fortunately Dean doesn't seem to notice the slip. "What the hell is going on?" he mutters again, staring at the newspaper like he might find the letters of a clue hidden in the print.

"Only one way to find out," Sam says.

Dean leans against the table, deliberating. "Okay, I'll go check it out," he says finally, firmly, hoping that Sam won't argue with him. He's not about to expose his younger brother – and consequently, the angel housed inside his body, the only thing keeping him alive at the moment – to danger if he doesn't have to. As Sam himself just said, all signs seem to point to a run-of-the-mill haunting, and yet he can't push down the feeling of unease that rises in his chest. _We were just at that apartment building a few months ago – fighting a goddamn **Reaper,** no less – and a ghost just happens to move in? This whole thing stinks._ "You stay here and hold down the fort with Kevin."

Predictably, Sam makes things difficult for him. "You can't do this alone, Dean," he says, his brows knitting together in concern.

"I'm not doing it alone," Dean counters, and he hates himself for what he's about to say next. "Gonna try calling Cas."

Now Sam looks _really_ concerned. "Cas? I don't think we need to get him involved, I'm perfectly – "

"No, actually, you're not. You're still weak from the Trials, okay, Sammy?" Dean cuts in forcefully, adopting a John Winchester-esque tone that he trusts to win the argument for him. Rebellious and stubborn as Sam may be, he still knows well enough not to rock the boat when Dean gets to sounding like their father. _Because everything's gotta be smooth sailing for Dean Winchester, don'tcha know._ And then he reminds himself, a moment later: _I'm just looking out for him._ _It's for his own good._ _Always for his own good._

He tries to relax his face long enough to smile. "We handled the angel business in Idaho just fine without you. Just sit tight and – I don't know, talk about whatever nerd things you and Kevin like to talk about."

"Like you're not the biggest nerd here." Sam's brows tighten even further and his mouth sets in a thin line, in an expression that Dean has long known (and openly referred to) as Sam's bitchface. "Fine. Do whatever you want."

"Besides," Dean adds, throwing his stuff together, "I think Cas would want to know what's going on too."

* * *

Dean's on his way to interview the only witness to the murder, a seventeen-year-old high school student named Amber Keegan, silently fuming and checking his cell phone every few seconds. He'd only called Cas about half a dozen times since leaving Lebanon, but for whatever reason, the angel-turned-human just wasn't picking up. But being angry, at least, distracted him from his very real fear that something had happened to Cas.

_I'm sure he's fine. Probably still mad at me for leaving him high and dry._ His face falls thinking about it. _It's what I'd do._

He parks Baby a few blocks away from where the girl lives and gets out, pausing to straighten his tie and look at his phone again. _Okay, I'll try calling one more time, and if I don't hear –_

"Hello, agent."

Dean turns in the direction of the voice. If this were a Looney Tunes short and he was Yosemite Sam, this would be the part where his eyes bugged out of his head. "The hell?" he mutters, trying to process the sudden appearance of Castiel, who's beaming and dressed smartly in a matching dark suit. He also can't help making a visual sweep of the angel's entire profile and mentally noting that Cas is really, _really_ rocking the FBI look, in a way that leaves him feeling just a tad uncomfortable.

His next few words are just as confused. "I – you – " He looks Cas up and down again. "How could you even afford that on a Gas-N-Sip salary?" he asks, stupidly.

Cas seems both pleased and nervous. "Nora, um, lent it to me. I told her I was attending a wedding, and she said I could borrow her brother's suit. I also have the badge you gave me," he adds at the last, flashing it with an absurd sort of pride.

"What are you doing here?" God damn, but he's asking a lot of dumb questions today.

Cas straightens up and replies in a perky voice that automatically sets Dean's teeth on edge. "I'm here for the same reason you are. To investigate a supernatural murder."

"Well all right then." Pointedly ignoring the elephant in the room, he doesn't ask for any details to confirm they're working on the same case. Then again, Cas doesn't seem all that bothered hanging around the place where he'd been tortured and murdered, so maybe he shouldn't be either, although he can't understand why Cas _wouldn't_ be as scarred as Dean was by the experience. Losing Cas, thinking he'd be gone forever... he grimly pushes down the memory. "I was going to ask you to tag along anyway. But would it kill you to pick up your phone?"

Before Cas can offer an excuse – or volunteer any of his opinions on the weird-ass circumstances surrounding the case – a familiar female voice interjects.

" _Yo_ , bitches!"

"Huh?" Both the hunter and the angel respond with mirrored expressions of confusion.

Charlie Bradbury, dressed in what was for her a typical day's attire – consisting of a handmade scarf with little eight-bit representations of Mario and Luigi knit into the fabric, a fuzzy green Ninja Turtles sweatshirt, and a pair of those lensless hipstery glasses that Dean would have found unforgivable on anyone else – bounds up to them, completing the picture of surreality that had been dogging the hunter since yesterday. Her mouth falls open when she sees Castiel.

"Oh my God," she murmurs, as if she'd just bumped into Benedict Cumberbatch or Matt Smith (and Dean wouldn't be surprised if either of one of those geek magnets happened to show up right now). "Are you Cas? You're Cas, aren't you?" Then, leaning forward and muttering in _sotto voce_ : "Um, I _can_ call you Cas, right?"

Dean takes perverse pleasure to see Cas thrown off his game for a moment. "I, um – yes?" he says, offering her an uncertain smile.

"I've heard so much about you!" Charlie continues to gush, as if they're the only two people on the block. Dean rolls his eyes skyward and crosses his arms. "...Or read, rather," she amends, with a giggle that's almost shy. "In the Supernatural books. And may I submit: your entrance in Lazarus Rising was a _total_  Crowning Moment of Awesome."

Cas blinks owlishly and tilts his head at her. "You've read the Winchester Gospels?"

Charlie's eyes grow even bigger. "You just did the head tilt thingy. Oh my God, it's even cuter in person. I think we're going to be great friends."

"Ya know, _some_ people would like a little acknowledgment when they run into a friend," Dean volunteers grumpily.

"Oh! Dean!" Charlie swings her head around to face him, as if noticing him for the first time. "I didn't forget about you," she says, pulling him into a tight hug, and Dean feels his iciness melting a bit in spite of everything. "I'm Charlie Bradbury, bee tee dubyoo," she adds to Cas. "I'm sort of a – colleague – of Dean's. A Woman of Letters, in fact."

"A pleasure," Cas says, taking her hand. Charlie returns his shake with enthusiasm – it seemed he'd gotten that part of being human down at least – when her eyes suddenly light up.

"Oh oh oh~! You guys are in your FBI gear!" she squees. "Are you in the middle of a case?" And then, before they can answer: "Think you can make room for a third Musketeer? Me and Dorothy've racked up a ton of XP hunting monsters! She says I'm a natural."

"So, what, going to the Emerald City wasn't exciting enough for you?" Dean says. "How'd you get back, anyway?"

"Through a wardrobe," she replies nonchalantly. Dean chuckles.

"I think you're getting your real fake fairy tale lands mixed up."

Charlie is completely undaunted. "Nope! It turns out most of those worlds we knew and loved as kids really _do_ exist – _and_ they're all connected! I've been to Middle-Earth and Narnia and Krynn... oh, the stories I could tell you, Dean." She brings her hands up under her chin and sighs romantically, looking alternately adorable and gooey. "I've had some real adventures, I have."

"Yeah, well, lemme know when you run into Aslan," Dean says dismissively, although privately he knows he's going to be pumping Charlie for information the first chance he gets. Charlie smirks at him; odds are she knows it too. "Where's Dorothy?"

Charlie's smirk grows even more pronounced and she tips him a wink. "Waiting for me back in the wardrobe. If you know what I mean."

"Oh boy." Next to him Cas issues a guffaw of contrived laughter, like it's the funniest joke he's ever heard. Dean turns to him, irritated and more than a little worried. To his knowledge, the few times Cas had ever laughed was when there was something seriously wrong with him. "You have no idea what she's talking about, do you?"

"Yes," the angel says. Then: "No." His features rearrange into a sheepish expression. "I'm sure it was funny though."

"I don't like this," Dean growls.

Charlie pouts. "What, you don't want me around?"

"No, of course I do. And I know that you can hold your own. But the two of you showing up like this, on _this_ particular case, is... it's just weird, is all."

"Well, I'm here for Youmacon, if that helps clear up anything," Charlie says.

"Do I even want to know what that is?"

"Only the largest anime and gaming convention in the state. Duh. Anyway, I was chilling in Oz when I remembered that this is the weekend I'm supposed to be running my panel on the homo-erotic subtext between Jean and Marco in _Shingeki no Kyojin._ And if there's one thing a fan _never_ does, it's let down other fans."

"You render a great service unto your fellow nerds," Dean mutters with a sigh and a smile.

There's a long silence following that exchange. Cas smiles nervously, trying his best to follow along, but it's clear he's lost the plot. Dean's seriously starting to wonder what the hell is wrong with him. _He was acting practically like a jilted lover the last time we worked together. Now he's like a lonely puppy or something._ Not to mention, Cas's clear attempts to act like something that Dean knew he wasn't. He didn't think the day would come when Castiel acting normal would be even _more_ unsettling than Castiel acting like he needed to phone home.

"But anyway, the case!" Charlie interjects, bringing him out of his thoughts. "I want all the deets."

"She means details," Dean says.

"I knew that," Cas says, a bit reproachfully, to which Dean arches an eyebrow. "Well," he goes on, clearing his throat, "there is the fact that we've been at the building the murder took place in, once before. And that in one of the residences, I sort of – died." He looks severely discomfited for the first time, but the expression's only there for a second, here and gone so quickly that Dean can't be certain that it was really there.

"Oh." Charlie's face falls. "How many times has it been now?" Dean looks at her sharply but Cas, accommodating as ever, begins counting on one hand.

"I believe it has been four times now. My most recent demise was engineered by a rogue Reaper. She thought I knew how to reverse Metatron's spell, but as I did not, she decided to dispose of me." Dean carefully studies Cas's face as he's explaining to Charlie, but the haunted look doesn't return. It doesn't exactly make him feel better, though.

"That's... a bummer." Charlie's momentarily speechless. Then some of her customary cheerfulness returns. "But, hey! You came back to tell the tale! And I've died too. I'd say that makes us a couple of honorary Winchesters." She holds out her hand for a fist bump.

Cas blinks, confused, then clumsily bumps his knuckles against hers, smiling with unabashed pleasure. Dean's secondhand embarrassment escalates to Terror Red Alert levels. "It does, doesn't it."

"So anyway, I'm thinking the death here was caused by a ghost," Dean says, hoping to keep them on topic. He pulls the newspaper clipping from his pocket and gives it to Charlie. "I guess you had the same idea I did then, Cas? Interview the witness?" Cas nods.

"I, for one, am delighted to have assistance. Shall we be going?"

"Lead the way," Dean mutters, making an _after you_ gesture with his hands.

Charlie sidles up to Dean's side, keeping pace with the hunter as Cas forges on ahead of them.

"Hey, Dean, what gives?" she whispers, frowning. "Cas was never like this in the Edlund books."

"Yeah, well, fiction doesn't always match up with reality." Dean really doesn't want to discuss this now.

"But that's the point," Charlie persists. "The books were never fiction, were they?" Dean shrugs. "I know I just met the guy – and don't get me wrong, he's totes adorkable! – but he just doesn't seem like himself."

Dean's silent for long moments. "Cas has been through a lot," is all he can say.

* * *

They decide on their aliases before Dean rings the doorbell. It's been a prog rock kind of day so Cas is Agent Lee, Charlie is Agent Lifeson, and Dean is Agent Peart. Fortunately when Amber's mom answers the door, not only does she not question Charlie's bizarre choice of dress or lack of a badge ("I'm deep undercover in a hippie commune," Charlie offers up, cool as a cucumber), but she leaves the room to let the "agents" talk with her daughter. It takes some prompting on their parts before Amber, who's clearly been traumatized by what she saw, is ready to talk.

"It was horrible, what happened," she says, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. There's a heap of them crumpled by her side. She looks like she's been crying for days.

"I know it's hard, but tell us everything you know," Dean urges. "Even the smallest detail can help."

Amber sucks in a breath. "They were throwing a party for Ashley, this girl in one of my classes, and I was with Derek..." She trails off, eyes brimming with tears.

"That the kid who got killed?"

She nods. "I was... I was really drunk. I don't know why. It was dumb. But Derek came up to me, and we went into Ashley's bedroom, and..." She stops again. "I don't think I can do this. Not again. I don't know why my mom thinks it'll help to keep talking about it with people. I just want to forget it ever happened." She hugs her arms around herself, like she wants to curl into a ball.

"We need to know, Amber," Dean says grimly. "It's really important that we catch the person who did this." Amber is silent. "What, you guys were messing around? It's okay, it happens. No one's judging you."

Amber hesitates again, but then finally in a tiny voice she says, "Derek tried to force himself on me. And then something killed him." She holds up her hands, as if to indicate the absurdity of it all. "That's it. That's what happened."

For long moments Dean is speechless. "He tried to rape you?" he asks, horror and disgust etched in his every syllable. Amber flinches at his directness but nods.

Charlie is just as stunned. "But the article di – our intelligence didn't tell us anything about... that."

"He _tried_ to," Amber repeats. "He didn't actually... get that far. But I was so helpless when it happened. I couldn't even move, I was so sloshed. So _stupid._ " Charlie lays a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't been drinking, Derek would still – "

"Don't give me that crap!" Dean finds himself leaning forward in his seat, inadvertently dropping the FBI persona as his outrage gets the better of him. Sam's always been good at having empathy for the bereaved people they interview, whereas Dean finds it a little harder to connect with people who aren't his family. Troubled kids though? Troubled kids he can work with, because – shit – he _is_ a troubled kid. One sick puppy, in fact. "Not a damn thing about this was your fault."

Amber returns his intense stare with watery eyes. She sniffles. "B-but I made it easy for him to take advantage of me..."

"So? What happened is still on him, not on you."

"Take it easy, Dean," Charlie cautions. "It didn't happen to you."

Dean nods. "Yeah, okay. But I'm not gonna sugarcoat it, Amber. Sometimes, life sucks the big one. Sometimes you cross your T's and dot your I's and everything still goes wrong. Maybe you made a mistake, maybe you didn't. But there's no point in agonizing over what you _should_ have done or _could_ have done. And feeling guilty that a would-be rapist is dead? _Screw_ that."

"No one even believes me," Amber sobs. "About what happened afterward. They said I was traumatized, too drunk, that I'd created false memories."

"Whatever happened, _we_ believe you. Trust us." Dean is solemn. "If you think you can handle telling us – "

"I don't remember much. I didn't even actually see it when it happened. I remember it got really cold all of a sudden. One second Derek was on top of me, the next he wasn't. Then this lady kind of just – zapped in front of me, like a ghost. She had long hair and her feet didn't touch the floor. It was too dark to see what color her hair was or what she was wearing. The next thing I knew, Derek was in pieces." She gulps hard. "Literally."

"Okay," Dean says, mentally filing away the information. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." Amber pauses, as though deliberating over whether or not she should include this last detail. "I... I think she killed him to save me. Like she was a guardian angel."

_Add a bunch of freaky light and you've got your basic archangel,_ Dean thinks, although for obvious reasons he's not that optimistic.

"Are we done?" Amber asks. She looks like she's about to cry again. "I'm sorry, it's just..."

"No, don't apologize. Yeah, we pretty much got what we needed." Dean starts to get up... then sits back down. Charlie gives him a warning look, but Dean inclines his head to reassure her. He knows it's not about him and he doesn't want to tell this girl how to feel, but he can't stand thinking that she might go through the next few weeks or months carrying around a load of unwarranted guilt, not after what she went through. God knows, he's carried his fair share of the stuff. Is _still_ carrying it.

"Listen, Amber. If you remember nothing else, remember this. _What happened was not your fault._ No way, no how. That creep started it all the moment he decided your consent didn't matter." Dean's especially fierce on this point, even as a hard little knot of accusation festers in his guts. _Sam. Ezekiel. Samzekiel. Where's one begin and the other end, Deano?_ "And hey, who knows. Maybe it _was_ an angel who saved you that night. So obviously God wouldn't want you to beat yourself up over it, right?" He offers Amber a strained smile. The girl wipes her eyes and nods, seemingly pacified, if only for the moment.

Upon mentioning angels, Dean realizes that Cas hasn't said a word during the interview. His eyes flick over to Cas, who's taken a seat by the window. The painfully earnest hunter of twenty minutes ago is gone. Cas's face is pale and drawn, his eyes wide and unseeing. He just stares out the window, seemingly at nothing, visibly shaken by... something. Did it upset him to know that humans did things like this to each other? Was he just bothered that they were so close to the site of where the Reaper had killed him? But if that was true, why had he bothered to follow up on this lead at all? _What?_ Dean wants to scream, but instead he just thanks Amber for her help and squeezes her shoulder reassuringly.

"You might want to talk to your mom about seeing a therapist," Charlie tells her kindly. "To talk about your feelings. Just... try not to mention anything about ghosts, 'kay?"

That manages to get a smile out of Amber. "Okay."

* * *

"That was nice, what you said about the angel," Charlie remarks as they pile into the Impala. She'd elected to take the back seat right away, leaving Dean and Cas to occupy the front. Since Cas had navigated a stolen car to get here and Charlie had taken the Greyhound, Dean figures a carpool is in order, especially since they'll be needing the "tools" in the trunk.

"Hey, just 'cause _we_ know angels are dicks doesn't mean we have to go around ruining it for other people," Dean says, gunning the engine. "Present company excluded from that definition, of course."

"Of course." Cas's voice is subdued, and the color hasn't returned to his cheeks. Dean leans over, taking on the tones of a confidante.

"You didn't say word one in there, you know."

Cas musters up a weak smile. "I'm sorry. Maybe I'll be more help with the actual investigation."

"I don't mean that. You didn't look so hot." _An understatement._ "Is everything okay, Cas?"

There's a very, very long pause as Cas stares at him, or maybe through him. Then: "Yes, Dean. Everything is fine."

"So, lady with long hair," Charlie says when they pull up in front of the apartment complex a few minutes later. "That's a bit vague. This building is huge. Where do we even start looking? Should we check out the murder site?"

"Probably, but I think there's another place we should search first," Dean says. "If you're okay with going back there, I mean." He looks to Cas for confirmation.

"It's fine," Cas repeats.

"What's fine? Where are we going?"

Dean struggles to get the words out. "The room where Cas died."

* * *

The superintendent of the building, eager to aid a federal investigation, informs them that April Kelly's room is still being paid for monthly, long after April herself had been officially declared a missing person. Her mother refused to give up hope that her daughter was still alive and kept the apartment in pristine condition for her.

"So what makes this apartment a better place to search than the actual murder site?" Charlie wonders aloud as Dean unlocks the door and they walk in.

"There was a lot of supernatural crap going on in this girl's apartment a few months ago. The extrasensory chaos it left behind may have stressed out the spirit and made it go dark in the first place." Dean gazes surreptitiously at Cas as the angel surveys the spacious abode, struggling to absorb the sight of these familiar walls.

"It's the same," he says, and there's no emotion in his voice. "Nothing has changed."

Charlie treads softly across the room, admiring the place. "Do we have any theories on who this spirit might be?"

"A couple." Dean sets down his briefcase where he's packed most of the tools of the trade, including his homemade EMF meter and a .45 caliber semi-automatic loaded with rock salt. He pulls out the meter and distributes bags of salt and iron crowbars. "We don't know if the Reaper killed anyone else when she was here. Could be one of her victims is still hanging around. Barring that, we'll have to go into the building's history and see if anyone died bad here."

He begins walking around the room, sweeping the perimeter with the device. He hasn't gone ten feet when it goes off in his hand, buzzing with an unnatural urgency.

"EMF's on fire," he says. Sweat breaks out on his forehead, and he tries to tap into those hidden reserves of battle cunning he'd been forced to develop when he was in Purgatory. He suddenly realizes he can see his own breath, hushing in and out of his lips. "Everyone be on your – "

On the word "guard" one of the windows – large, floor-to-ceiling affairs that give onto a view of the city – shatters. The noise is terrific and Dean drops the EMF detector to cover his ears. The brick walls rock violently, shaking paintings loose from their frames and knocking over chairs. It feels like the entire world is vibrating apart, reduced to a churning kaleidoscope of shapes with no definition and colors bleeding into one another. The disturbance lasts for about thirty seconds, but by Dean's estimation it feels more like thirty years.

"Dean!" Charlie yelps behind him, and he whirls around just in time to see her being swept off her feet into the adjacent bedroom. Her back strikes the far wall with an _oof_ and she falls to her knees, dazed but unharmed. Almost predictably, the bedroom door slams shut. Gripped by panic, Dean starts towards her when whatever sent Charlie flying flexes its invisible muscles and knocks him backwards, this time with a lot less gentleness. Cas helps get him upright again, as overhead a light fixture explodes and sparks and shards of glass rain down on them like deadly confetti. Any second now, Dean thinks, the super or a neighbor or _somebody_ is gonna come investigate the noise and then they'll be in even worse trouble than they already are.

"It's like Paranormal Activity in here," he groans. But the tremor in his voice betrays his fear. The power of this ghost is... abnormal. If he didn't know better, he would say it has something against _them_ personally.

_But you **do** know better, don't you? You've never believed in coincidences, and you're not about to start now._

As if fate had a nasty sense of humor and had chosen to suit action to his thoughts, the ghost chooses that moment to reveal herself.

* * *

Charlie jumps to her feet and lunges towards the door just as it's closing. "Crapcrapcrapcrap _crap_ – " She tries to get it open, then pounds on it, but it won't budge. "Guys! I'm trapped!" Seeing that it's no use, she unlaces the bag Dean gave her and begins pouring a salt circle around herself. No sooner does she complete the task than the lady ghost zaps in front of her.

Charlie holds her iron crowbar in front of her – the way she'd held a sword when she and Dorothy slayed the dragon the one time – pretending this is another LARPing session and she's the queen of Moondor once more. "I am _not_ afraid," she announces to the thing as it draws closer, stopping just outside the circle. "I am royalty. And I will _royally_ kick your ass if you try to kill me."

The ghost stares at her, ignoring her threats but seeming suddenly, surprisingly lucid. "You're safe now," she says, then disappears.

Charlie stares. The ghost wanted her _safe_? Does that mean there's something even worse out there? She takes a quick scan of the room and curses. Nothing she can use as a weapon.

Looking down at the crowbar in her hands, she mutters fiercely, "Okay, forget Moondor. I am Gordon Freeman," then attacks the door with a vengeance.

* * *

The ghost isn't a ghost at all.

Dean absorbs this information like a condemned prisoner being forced to swallow poison. For a second his mouth works soundlessly and his hands tremble, as April Kelly approaches on feet that never meet the floor, her red hair fanning out behind her, her face as white and drained of color as his must be at that moment. Two red pinpricks of light blaze in her face and he realizes they're her eyes. Absurdly, he notes that she's still wearing the wine-colored shirt she was killed in, although the color reminds him more of blood now than wine, an impression that's only aided by the large stab wound in her stomach.

"What – in the hell is – "

"It's April," Cas says, like that explains everything.

"Yeah Cas, I have eyes, I _know_ it's April!" Dean doesn't even try not to sound scared. "What I want to know is how did she come back?" He reaches for Cas's sleeve, trying to wrench the angel-killing knife from him. If he has to send the bitch back to hell –

"You don't understand. I'm not talking about the Reaper." Cas makes a funny little sound in his throat, and that's when Dean notices that the angel is even more on edge than he is. His eyes are wide and blue and screaming in his head, his nostrils flared; looking at him, Dean's reminded of a hunted predator. He also, for the first time, looks like himself. "I'm talking about the human April. The _real_ April."

The creature – not the Reaper, Dean has to remind himself now, but the human it'd been impersonating, the real April Kelly – stalks towards them. Dean backs away, into the wall closest to him; he has to practically drag Cas by the shoulder to get him to move. April exudes an aura of hatred that's more than hatred, somehow; she seems to be possessed almost of _righteous indignation_ , to look at her. Her red-eyed gaze falls upon Cas.

Dean immediately reaches for his gun and aims it at her chest. His finger begins to tighten on the trigger, but Cas startles him by placing a hand on the barrel and lowering it with a trembling arm. He seems a bit calmer now, as if seeing April's ghost with his own two eyes had confirmed some terrible truth for him. Dean keeps waiting for the angel to drop into a defensive posture, get ready to do battle, but it doesn't happen; instead his stance remains wide open, his chest utterly exposed. Dean briefly flashes back to the moment when the Reaper stabbed Cas in the chest, and for a few seconds the world spins again.

"Dean, get out of here. It's me she wants." Cas doesn't look at Dean at all while he's saying this, just keeps staring at April.

"Yeah, not happening. What the hell's her beef with you, anyway? It's not like _we_ killed her."

Cas's response floors him. "Actually, Dean, we did. We did kill her. Or rather _you_ did. But I did something even worse." He pauses. "I understand now. How reality conspired to bring us here. Perhaps God willed this meeting."

"You are making _zero_ sense right now."

Cas is angry now. "Don't you get it?"

"Get _what_?"

"Reapers can't be seen by ordinary humans. They have to inhabit human bodies if they want to pierce the veil."

Dean has only has a few seconds to try and piece together what this means before an invisible hand picks him up like a sack of flour and sends him sailing across the room. He crashes near the bedroom door, where he hears Charlie still trying to bust her way out.

"Dean, I can't get out! What's happening?"

"Charlie, stay in there!" he yells, but his warnings break off into a cry of pain when that same invisible hand rears back and socks him in the jaw. White fills his vision, and he struggles to stay conscious.

April speaks for the first time. "You're not touching her."

That makes Dean start. Excepting a few special cases, angry ghosts normally don't talk. Is this even a _true_ vengeful spirit they're dealing with?

"I understand," Cas says. "You're just trying to protect her from us."

He sounds shockingly conversational. _Why are you trying to reason with her?_ Dean wants to scream. Bearing out his assumptions of her killing intent, April crosses the ten feet separating her and Castiel in the blink of an eye, her eyes flaring an even deeper red.

"You," she hisses. "All I wanted to do was help you."

She punches him. Cas's head rockets backward and he falls heavily to the floor. A second later he pulls himself into a sitting position, but makes no move to defend himself. Meanwhile Dean remains helpless, pinned against the wall like a bug. It's like a scene from his worst nightmare, only a million times worse because _this is actually happening._

"You were kind to me." A thin line of blood leaks out of Cas's mouth as he speaks, staining his tie a deep crimson. "It was you who gave me that sandwich, wasn't it?"

"Bingo." April gives a bitter laugh that makes Dean's skin crawl. "But no good deed goes unpunished, I guess. Because that's how I caught the attention of the Reaper. It was looking for you, and I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I never even knew when it jumped inside me. Not until I suddenly found myself walking back outside, and words were coming out of my mouth that I'd never say in a million years. I had no control over my body. No control whatsoever." A blood-red tear stands in her eye. "I was terrified, and the whole time that _thing_ – kept _laughing_ at me."

"I'm sorry," Cas says.

She hits him again. "Shut up! I'm talking."

"Leave him alone!" Dean bellows.

April sneers at him. "Don't think I haven't got words for you too. Wait your turn." She resumes staring at Cas. "It was bad enough, being controlled like that. But then, when it started _kissing_ you, took you to bed, _my_ bed – "

Dean closes his eyes against the horrific implications of her words. "Oh, God," he mutters, again and again. He'd never thought that April was _still in there._

"Did you know, I'd never even had sex before? My girlfriend and I were planning to wait until we got our marriage license. You can't get one in Michigan. We were saving up money so we could move." She scoffs. "Not like you give a damn about any of that. Not like any angel cares about human beings. We're all just toys, pawns to you."

Cas raises his head to look at her. The blood continues to drip down his face at an alarming rate and his breathing is shallow, but he speaks with a humble conviction that makes Dean love him so fiercely that it hurts, hurts worse than April's blows ever could. "Maybe to some of us. But not to me."

"Sure," April says dismissively. "That's why your friend stabbed me, right?"

"Don't blame him. He didn't know."

Dean desperately interjects. "Look April, if you wanna be mad at someone – " His words splinter off into a hiss of pain as a chair connects violently with his knee.

" _Still_ not your turn." She seizes Cas by the collar of his shirt, lifting him effortlessly with one arm; with the other arm she rips pieces of his jacket off until only the shirt remains, like a darkly comic foreshadowing to the method of his own demise. Dean fights like an animal to get free, but it's about as effective as a mouse scratching away at too-high walls in a maze. He's going to watch Cas die all over again – ripped limb from limb – and just like before there's nothing, _nothing_ he can do to stop it –

April draws Cas up to eye level. "I was screaming," she whispers. "Screaming for you to stop. You never listened."

"I know what I did." There's a heavy pause as Cas struggles to talk. Dean knows that it derives more from his agonized guilt than any pain sustained by his injuries. "I know that I raped you. It was despicable. And what we put you through... what _I_ put you through... from the bottom of my heart, I am sorry."

"You think telling me you're sorry is gonna save your life?" she snarls.

"No. If you want, you can kill me."

"Damn it, Cas!" Dean cries. "Fight her!"

April tilts her head in mock curiosity. "Tell me, did you brag about it later?" Dean winces; Cas grits his teeth and looks away. "High-five it out with He-Man here about what a good lay I was?"

Now tears join the blood streaking down Cas's face. "No," he says in a halting whisper, "I n-never wanted..."

_"Stop – lying!"_ April thunders, shaking him, the force of her anger causing her to flicker in and out of the veil like a bad television signal.

"I never wanted to sleep with her," Cas continues, meeting her eyes, and something inside Dean breaks when he hears that, because he's not saying it to save his own life, _and if he's not trying to save himself then why would he –_ "If I'd told her no when she kissed me – been stronger – this never would have happened to you."

For the first time a measure of humanity creeps into April's face, restoring color to her cheeks and dulling the flames in her eyes. Her grip on Cas relaxes by a fraction.

"What did you say?" she asks.

* * *

Inside April's bedroom, Charlie has abandoned the Gordon Freeman method of problem solving and is now doing what she does best. She types furiously, fingers flying over the keyboard like those of a concert pianist, as she hacks into April's home computer.

"Okay, so Plan A was a bust," Charlie mutters to herself, as she's often wont to do when she's nervous and running short on time. "Time for Plan B. If I'm remembering the lore correctly, angry spirits can be pacified by communication with a loved one. If April has a girlfriend – "

She blasts through the computer's password protection measures and accesses the operating system. From that point on, it's easy enough to pull up Skype and check out the contacts list. A name at the top of the list reads MARIANNE SUMMERS <3.

"Yes!" Charlie inwardly cheers. But it's not time to do a victory dance just yet. She double-clicks Marianne's name and types in the chat box:

MARIANNE. ARE YOU THERE? APRIL NEEDS YOUR HELP.

* * *

Dean is distressed. Actually that's an understatement, but if he devoted more than two seconds to analyzing his emotional state right now he might just lie down and never get up again. "Cas? What are you saying? The Reaper forced you to have sex?"

"I... not exactly." Cas himself seems to have trouble putting it into words, as if he doesn't know how to define his experience, or if he even _should_ attempt to put a label on it. The hesitation reminds Dean too much of Amber. "I guess not." His face tenses up with frustration. "I don't know..."

Dean's almost forgotten April now. "Damn it, Cas! What aren't you telling me?"  
  
April has fallen completely silent. She looks more uncertain with each passing second, but her grip on Cas remains tight.

"I..." Cas swallows and blinks and bites his lip, as if trying to mentally work himself up to this point. Finally:

"I was scared," he confesses in a tiny voice. Those three little words convey so much vulnerability, self-loathing, _humanness_. "I... I've learned that bad things happen when you turn down sex. I was scared to say no." Dean remembers Chastity, thinks back to the times when he thought that all Cas needed to free the stick in his ass was a good roll in the hay, when really he was just being a presumptuous dick. He cringes. "She was offering me food, warmth, a place to sleep. I was tired of running. I didn't want her to turn me out. So I just – when she kissed me, when she took control like that, I just... let it happen."

April's face turns hard again. "You're lying. You were enjoying yourself way too much."

"No," Cas says. "I was... playing a part. I wanted to keep her happy. After a while it started to feel good, so it became easier to pretend... if it feels good, you can't really say it was something bad, right? At least, that's how it seemed afterwards... I can't complain about feeling used and violated after the fact. Feeling _weak._ Especially when I went back a second time, just to try and convince myself that the decision had always been mine." His eyes flick to Dean, full of sorrow and shame. "I'm sorry, Dean. All this time I was playing at human, and I failed. Just like I failed with Metatron, and stopping Raphael peacefully. I've never done a single thing right."

Dean's own eyes fill with tears. "Cas..."

"I was a coward. I knew what I did, and I ran from it. I couldn't deal with knowing that I had hurt more people. But I couldn't escape my guilt. That's how the Rit Zien found me. I said I didn't want to die, but now – now, I just don't know."

"Damn it." Dean slowly shakes his head. "You had no way of knowing April was in there, Cas. And if the Reaper really pressured you to go to bed with her, then you're a victim too. If only I'd found you sooner." He covers his eyes with his hands. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let Cas down so badly? Not only had he not reached Cas in time, he'd turned him out of the bunker to be perhaps subjected to the very same fate once more. He'd been so wrapped up in _Sam's_ survival, that he couldn't see the person in front of him who needed him. "God _damn_ it."

"You're telling the truth," April says. She isn't fully back to human but there's a lot less demon in her now, hints of the sweet girl that had taken time to feed a homeless man beginning to shine through the spectral mask. "And I've been hurting you..."

"This was nobody's fault but the Reaper's," Dean says darkly. "She was a monster and a predator." _And I wish the bitch was here right now so I could kill her again. Only this time I'll show her all the things I can do with a knife..._ With a great effort he shoves the thought away. Wallowing in bloodlust is too easy. The only thing it ever accomplishes is getting him away from more unpleasant emotions – like the deep and melancholy heartache he feels on Cas's behalf, or the guilt that threatens to consume him whole – and Lord knows, this isn't about him.

With April's anger waning by slow degrees, her supernatural influence over their surroundings has diminished. The bedroom door unlatches and Charlie flings it open.

"Thank God, you're alive!" she breathes. "Whoa," she adds when she sees that Cas is still in April's clutches. She looks at the ghost appraisingly. "Looks like you guys did some of the work for me. I'll take it from here."

Addressing April, she says: "I kind of wrecked your door. Sorry about that. But more importantly, I've got someone on the line here who wants to talk to you." She steps out of the room to reveal April's computer screen, which is switched on to a Skype webcam chat. The face of a pretty Asian girl occupies the chat window.

"April!" the girl says, and Dean realizes it has to be the girlfriend April spoke of earlier. He stares up at Charlie in awe, who beams. _Clever girl._

"Marianne?" The blood-red color drains out of April's eyes to reveal a stormy but gentle shade of gray, and her body slowly lowers until her feet are touching the floor. She sets Castiel down and begins to walk into the bedroom, like someone lost in a dream. "I've missed you so much."

"I know," Marianne says, crying. "But it's going to be okay." The door slowly drifts shut behind April, leaving them to continue their conversation in private.

"Damn, you guys took a beating." Charlie surveys the damage in the loft with unbelieving eyes. "I'm sorry I couldn't help more."

"You did great, Charlie." And then Dean realizes, far too belatedly, that he can move again. Without giving a thought as to his own injuries – or indeed anything else in the world at all – he leaps to his feet, races to Cas's side. The angel is bent down on his knees, staring at the floor impassively while droplets of blood collect on his shirt, like a man lost in prayer after completing the ritual of mortification of the flesh. Dean jumps right into that mess and embraces Cas, burying the angel's head in his chest, enfolding him in his arms, so that it seems they are one person instead of two.

"I'm sorry Cas, I'm so sorry – " He realizes that he's crying openly, and also that he doesn't care.

A shadow falls over them and Charlie is standing there next to him. Her face is sober. "I don't know what to say."

"You heard that?"

"I heard enough." She kneels down next to Dean and places a hand on Cas's back, rubbing slowly and soothingly, while Dean strokes his hair. The angel doesn't move at all, doesn't acknowledge their presence, but it's enough to know that he's here and he's _alive_. He hugs Cas tighter, who finally closes his eyes and lets their love wash over him like a healing balm.

The three of them sit together like that for a long time.

* * *

Twenty minutes later and the scene is almost normal. The super had indeed shown up to investigate the "noise disturbance," but Dean had managed to convince him that all was well without actually letting him inside the loft (mostly because the window was unsalvageable; everything else they had managed to set to rights again). April Kelly sits on the couch with a laptop open to Skype, looking for all the world like a normal human woman but for the very conspicuous wound in her chest where Dean had stabbed her. Cas sits silently in a chair and lets Charlie fuss over him, wiping the blood off his face with a towel dipped in warm water.

"I was trapped in the veil," April explains, "unable to go to Heaven. There are lots of others like me. It didn't take long for me to... become angry."

"It looks like you were tied to this," Charlie says, holding up a jar of baby teeth she'd found on April's dresser.

April nods. "Yeah. My mom gave me that. I always thought it was stupid to hold on to stuff like that, but I guess I was more sentimental than I thought."

"I, um, was going to burn them as a last resort," Charlie confesses. "But I'm glad I didn't have to."

April smiles. "I don't think you have to worry about me anymore. As long as I have Marianne, I'll be fine." Dean can tell right away from the warmth in her voice and the adoring look in her eyes that April had been one hundred percent serious about wanting to share her future with Marianne. _Before we showed up and took all that away from her,_ he thinks grimly.

"I sent a message to your mom, by the way," Marianne says. "She's on her way to the apartment right now." Her expression turns troubled. "I didn't know how to tell her that you're a ghost..."

"No mother should have to deal with that," Dean mutters. Trying to restore a somewhat business-like tone to his voice, he turns to the angel. "What's the deal, Cas? Why would Metatron close Heaven for business?"

"Metatron gave no indication that he would be closing off Heaven to humans." Cas speaks in a still, small voice, his gaze carefully averted from everyone. He shakes his head. "I can't see why he would do this."

Dean sighs with frustration. "So any communication with Ash is out."

"More vital now than ever that we reverse this."

Dean turns his attention to April. "Well, while we're waiting for your mom, we have to figure out what to do with you."

"I didn't talk to too many of the spirits. But they were just as stumped as I was about where they were supposed to go. Or how they were supposed to avoid becoming... vengeful." April looks ashamed at the last.

"According to the girl we interviewed, the guy that you killed was attempting to rape her," Dean says.

April's expression grows dark. "Yeah?"

"Honey, that hardly qualifies as vengeful."

"Well, let's just leave the jar with Marianne and April's mom, so they'll all be together," Charlie suggests. Then, with a nervous laugh: "There are, uh, 'procedures' for if she goes – _full_ dark, right?

"Uh, yeah. Here, let me write 'em down for you guys." Dean looks around for a piece of paper to write on, eventually turning up a yellow business notepad in a drawer. "I'll give you one of my cell numbers too." As he draws up instructions for how to deal with a vengeful spirit, there's a frantic knock on the door.

"I'm guessing that's your mom." Dean tears the completed page off the pad and sets it on the counter. "Charlie, ya think you could talk to April's mom for us? I think Cas needs some fresh air."

Charlie frowns, but there's no heat to it and her tone is clearly facetious. "Well, I missed out on all the exciting ghost stuff, but sure, I guess I could do that."

Dean smiles. "Next time. We'll be right back."

He helps Cas get to his feet when April walks over. "Castiel?"

The angel looks at her. There's a question, along with the fear of further condemnation, hovering in his eyes.

She smiles, and Dean's beginning to see now why Cas trusted her. There's hope in that smile, and also love – the _agape_ love that Castiel sometimes spoke of when he was an angel, the unconditional love for one's fellow man. "I forgive you," she says. "And I... I hope you can forgive me too."

Cas responds, not in words because words would only take away from the depth of his emotions – a tangible thing that seems almost to have essence, form – but with new tears that course down his cheeks, and some unspoken understanding passes between him and April, survivors joined by their shared experience. His lips move soundlessly, but the words they shape are unmistakable.

They are _o_ _f course,_ and _thank you_.

With a final, solemn nod to April – silent apology for what he had done to her – and a clap on Cas's shoulder, Dean leads him out.

* * *

They walk a few blocks away where there's a bus stop, and sit on a bench within the rudimentary shelter of the gazebo. Dean thinks back to the last time they'd sat like this, in a playground that had been spared – along with the rest of the town it was located in – from an angel smiting writ large. They'd known each other for maybe a couple of days then. The angel had carried himself with a proud and confident bearing. Now he slumps forward, shoulders drooping as if he hopes to make himself small enough to disappear, watching people pass by on the sidewalk.

The sight – and the silence – is intolerable. "You okay?" Dean asks.

"No," Cas replies tonelessly.

He doesn't say anything more, and Dean fidgets uncomfortably. "Look," he finally says. "What I told Amber applies to you too. This wasn't your fault. If it hadn't been for the Reaper – "

Maddeningly, Cas shakes his head. "Whether the fault was mine or not... it's because of things like this that I couldn't stay with you."

" _Couldn't stay_..." Dean mouths the words back incredulously. "Are you kidding me? Cas, this isn't about you deserving to be in the bunker or not, this is about you being – being _raped_ , for God's sake!"

"What does it say about me that I let it happen?"

" _Let_ it happen? You were coerced!"

"I'm still not even sure that's what it was."

"That's a load of bull – "

"It happened so fast. She was tending to my wounds, and then she was kissing me. I was... curious, so I didn't pull away. It even felt nice. But then she kept going, and she was leading me into her – April's – bedroom, and I was wondering if I should say something, when I saw the candles in the room. I realized she must have gone in and lit them while I was removing my bandages. She was expecting sex all along. That's how I felt – knew – I couldn't say no to her."

"That sounds a hell of a lot like coercion to me. You're a good person, Cas. She knew that, and she zeroed in on it. She used it to take advantage of you."

"Just like Metatron." Cas sighs.

"It ain't your fault the world's full of scumbags. Hell, it's not like _I_ haven't forced you to do things you didn't want. Like taking you to the brothel and shoving you at Chastity – "

"It's okay, Dean – "

" – no, it's not." Dean is adamant. "I presumed to know better than you then. Hell, I still do that. Most of the time I just can't see the world through anything but my own eyes. And when that happens, undeserving people suffer. Like April Kelly.

"And she's not the only one. When's the last time I even thought about the poor bastards who were trapped in their own bodies? Meg Masters? Jimmy Novak? When I first met Lenore, it ate at me so bad to know that I might have been killing monsters that didn't deserve it. And now..." He smiles grimly, looking at his hands, a murder weapon more dangerous than any gun or knife. "They should plaster our faces back up on the MOST WANTED list."

There's a long silence as Cas considers this. "I think about them," he says finally. "I killed hundreds of my kind in Heaven, Dean. Many of them were still in possession of vessels. I watched the vessels' spirits disperse to their individual Heavens, and even in my delusions of grandeur, I wondered... could any of them ever have imagined that their bodies would be used to this purpose? Beaten, bludgeoned, hammered, and ultimately discarded? I also visited Jimmy Novak's Heaven." Dean blinks. "Yes, he's dead. He's been dead for a long time. He was watching his five-year-old daughter in a Christmas pageant. She played the part of Mary. I watched as another little girl, dressed as an angel, approached and asked if she would consent to bear God's son. And I looked at Jimmy. Even Heaven could not release him from his tortured existence. Tears streamed from his eyes and he was mouthing the word _no_ , over and over."

Dean's voice is hushed. "What did you do after that?"

"I took him and I created a new Heaven for him. I had the power to do that, then." Cas's gaze grows unfocused, as if contemplating his newfound mental and physical shortcomings, then he turns back to Dean. "It's wrong, Dean. It's wrong to let this keep happening to people. We have to stop it."

"I know," Dean says, although he's never known a way to avoid it and he doesn't know now. "God, do I ever know."

His hand tightens over Castiel's own.

He's got to tell him.

He's got to.

But even now, he can't. The programming that runs deep inside of him – because for all his talk and bluster about _choice_ and _free will_ he's every inch the cog in the machine that the angels were – comes alive, insisting that he can't tell, that the risk to Sammy is far too great to divulge such a secret, even to Cas. Even if it's at the expense of his own soul, he must hold the line. He _must._

And so Dean sits with the angel in miserable silence, still holding his hand, hoping _(not praying)_ that the coming days can lead to anything but ruin.


End file.
